Page 102 of Bad at Love
He and my aunt exchange a look. “It’s, uh…I need help, little girl. More help than you or Margaret can give me. It isn’t fair to both of you that I can’t take care of myself, especially you. After everything I’ve put you through—I can’t stand to put you through anymore.”
“So what does this mean?”
“It means that I’m going to sell the house, I’m going to go to a detox and rehab center for as long as I can. There’s one in the hills, by our old place in Ramona. Then after that, maybe a group home.”
“And then we’ll see what happens,” Margaret says. “The treatment center is very expensive, so unfortunately selling the house is a must. What’s left over, we were thinking about getting him a condo near me.”
“What about Pickles?” I ask.
My dad chuckles. “Pickles doesn’t need to go to rehab. His catnip problem isn’t that bad.”
“I can take him in,” Margaret says. “Unless you want to. Do you think he’d be okay with your bees?”
I nod. “He’d be fine. I’d have to ask Barbara but I don’t think it would be a problem. I’d love to have that fat cat.”
After that, it’s back to small talk again and I’m trying not to let the hope shine out of my chest. The fact that my father is taking this step means he’s actually serious for once. It’s one thing to go because a court orders you or because you had a moment of clarity. It’s another thing to sell your house so you can afford to stay in a treatment center.
This is a huge step. This is huge for everyone.
And like usual, I want to get my hopes up because that’s what I do. I open myself up to believing everything will be okay, which is why my heart is always getting stomped on when I’m eventually let down.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
MARINA
“GOODNIGHT LOVERS”
“So, that was some big news,”Laz says later after we’ve said goodbye to my father and Aunt Margaret and are driving away from Irvine toward the coast.
“I know,” I say softly.
“Good news,” he adds, as if he wasn’t clear. “I’m guessing a treatment center is a step above rehab.”
“Yeah, it’s like going to the Betty Ford clinic. He can stay for months. Sometimes they go to group homes after, where a bunch of recovering addicts live together. He’s never taken it this seriously before, even after Mom died.”
“It’s never too late to make things right.” He pauses. “Not that this will bring your mum back but…”
“I know,” I say just as we come out of the canyon near Laguna. “Nothing will. But it can’t hurt.”
“And for you, to not have to deal with this, to go back to being his daughter instead of his caregiver. To not carry this weight and worry in your heart.” He reaches over and takes my hand. “I see it in you, you know. Behind your beautiful smile and kind eyes, you have this darkness within you. I wish more than anything I could banish it.”
I give him a gracious smile. “You do, Laz. Being with you gives me light.”
We pull into the parking lot right across the beach at Crystal Cove State Park and Laz parks the car far away from the only other car in the lot, a truck where rap music blares and clouds of pot waft out of the barely cracked windows.
“Now this is nice,” I tell him, rolling down the window to let the ocean breeze wash over us. The ocean itself is dark as sin, the waves rolling in slowly, their crests catching glints of lights off of Highway 1. I breathe in the salt air and feel my muscles immediately loosen.
“I often wonder why we don’t live by the beach,” he says. “What’s the point of living in California if you always forget thatthisis here.”
“Why don’t we?” I repeat. “I can tell you why I don’t, because I don’t have several millions of dollars. And, so far, neither do you.”
“You are such a dream crusher,” he says, making atsking sound as he shakes his head. “You’re supposed to aim for something in life, aren’t you?”
I give him a tiny, one-shouldered shrug. “Yeah. But my goals aren’t fancy beach houses.”
“I didn’t say it needed to be fancy,” he says. “It could be a daggy, old shack and I’d be happy with it. Just as long as I can see the ocean.”
Am I in these dreams with you? I wonder.He did say “we” after all.
